Thither the great Magicien _Merlin_ came, v As was his vse, ofttimes to visit me: For he had charge my discipline to frame, And Tutours nouriture to ouersee. Him oft and oft I askt in priuitie, Of what loines and what lignage I did spring: Whose aunswere bad me still assured bee, That I was sonne and heire vnto a king, As time in her iust terme the truth to light should bring. Well worthy impe, said then the Lady gent, vi And Pupill fit for such a Tutours hand. But what aduenture, or what high intent Hath brought you hither into Faery land, Aread Prince _Arthur_, crowne of Martiall band? Full hard it is (quoth he) to read aright The course of heauenly cause, or vnderstand The secret meaning of th’eternall might, That rules mens wayes, and rules the thoughts of liuing wight. For whither he through fatall deepe foresight vii Me hither sent, for cause to me vnghest, Or that fresh bleeding wound, which day and night Whilome doth rancle in my riuen brest, With forced fury following his behest, Me hither brought by wayes yet neuer found, You to haue helpt I hold my selfe yet blest. Ah curteous knight (quoth she) what secret wound Could euer find, to grieue the gentlest hart on ground? Deare Dame (quoth he) you sleeping sparkes awake, viii Which troubled once, into huge flames will grow, Ne euer will their feruent fury slake, Till liuing moysture into smoke do flow, And wasted life do lye in ashes low. Yet sithens silence lesseneth not my fire, But told it flames, and hidden it does glow, I will reuele, what ye so much desire: Ah Loue, lay downe thy bow, the[299] whiles I may respire. It was in freshest flowre of youthly yeares, ix When courage first does creepe in manly chest, Then first the[300] coale of kindly heat appeares To kindle loue in euery liuing brest; But me had warnd old _Timons_[301] wise behest, Those creeping flames by reason to subdew, Before their rage grew to so great vnrest, As miserable louers vse to rew, Which still wex old in woe, whiles woe still wexeth new. That idle name of loue, and louers life, x As losse of time, and vertues enimy I euer scornd, and ioyd to stirre vp strife, In middest of their mournfull Tragedy, Ay wont to laugh, when them I heard to cry, And blow the fire, which them to ashes brent: Their God himselfe, grieu’d at my libertie, Shot many a dart at me with fiers intent, But I them warded all with wary gouernment.